At that moment, Oliver leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning Abigail's picture with a calculating stare. His jaw tightened as if he were weighing every word Lisa had just said.
"So," he muttered slowly, his tone heavy with disdain, "this is the real puppeteer. The others bark, but she is the one pulling the strings." He flicked the edge of the photo with his finger, almost as if daring the woman in the picture to defy him. "A woman born into power, spoiled by influence, and protected by her family's media empire. No wonder she thinks she can play God."
